


No One

by Chris Fitzner (chrisfitzner)



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-29
Updated: 2014-07-29
Packaged: 2018-02-10 20:55:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2039805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chrisfitzner/pseuds/Chris%20Fitzner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hurt and bitter, Margot allows herself to hope, just a little.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No One

_I’ll show you my scars if you show me yours_.

I don’t know why I’m here in this tiny house, in the middle of nowhere and surrounded by nowhere, standing in front of this man who is broken and no one, just like me; no one to my father, no one to Mason.

But Mason can’t find me if I am nowhere.

Smooth buttons adorn my silk blouse and they slip free easily between my fingers, and any misgivings I may have drop away while I keep my eyes locked on his eyes, brown and cautious a tiny bit inquisitive, like a puppy really. There’s a lurch in my heart; don’t use him, don’t hurt him. But he is no one; he should be no one, except to my plan. To that end, he is everything.

His strong hands stop mine. He ‘lacks the right parts for my proclivities’ but I don’t break eye contact and I move to undo the buttons on his shirt instead, faded flannel, rough and cheap, from a store I will surely never shop at. Caresses, feather light, dance across my scarred back.

‘Who did this to you?’ his voice sounds far away.

 _My brother._ _Who did this to you?_ I echo, rubbing the rough knot of tissue beneath my thumb. A warm sensation spreads through my abdomen. He’s beautiful, in his broken way that seems not dissimilar to mine. A kindred spirit?

‘A friend..’

No, Margot; no one.

He could be dangerous, like Mason is dangerous. But he won’t hurt me. Mason has.

His arm slips around me, pulling us together and our lips meet in an eager kiss, his hands resting lightly in my hair. It feels like he could really care about me, almost, and I admit that I lose myself in my own charade.  

My silks flutter to the floor with a whisper, joining the cheap flannel while his hands roam freely across my skin, cupping my breasts and trailing fire down my stomach. A tailored skirt and a pair of jeans join the pile, forgotten by us. He pauses a moment to look at me and my throat constricts with panic. Did he change his mind? A glance at his boxer briefs puts that fear to rest and in one swift movement I push him hard toward the rickety bed; my bra and panties vanish and I can’t say how.

We tumble around, a tangle of limbs, until I find myself straddling his narrow waist with his arousal pressed hot and hard against me. My breath catches in my throat.

You wanted this, Margot.

He makes the final move for me, urging me up and then easing me down onto him. I suppress a shudder at our coming together and gaze at this man I hardly know, the gentle curl of his hair and faint creases around his eyes, from laughter or worry, I have no idea. He tugs my hands and I fall forward a little, my hair falling over his chest.

One more kiss and we are moving together, my back arching as an aching heat begins to build inside me. In a flash, I am on my back and he is looming over me, moving steadily then faster and my ability for language evaporates into moans and sighs as I try to keep pace with him.

The ache builds and builds, until I feel like I’m going to explode; his lips leave a trail of sloppy, desperate kisses along the curve of my shoulder. He’s close too and it thrills me a little.

A whispered name reaches my ears but it’s not mine, and my pleasure evaporates even before the last syllable fades away. I slowly stop moving and lay there mutely as he continues grunting away, making love to someone who is not me. My cheeks burn with shame and I bite down on my lip to keep the stinging tears from falling. To think that he might have wanted _me_ was clearly foolish.

He’s a tool in the plan, Margot and you’re the vessel; let him fill you and then leave. But I am his tool too.

I get up as soon as he rolls away, wincing a little at the dull ache of muscles never used. He watches without a word while I gather up my clothes and dress. His scent clings to me as I button the silk blouse over my sticky skin. I can’t wait to take a shower.

He’s no one, Margot. You got what you came for.

A smile tugs at the corner of my lips and I saunter from the house with the hope that victory, a very tiny victory, is nestled safely within my grasp.


End file.
